The Plan
by Aniseed
Summary: 'A Brave New World'. After outing herself to the world, Claire has to face the consequences. More people than ever want to get their hands on her and help appears in the strangest of places. When it comes to her life, the unexpected should always be expected. O/S but may expand into a series of vignettes.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just having a bit of fun.

Instead of revising like I should have been doing this Easter, I spent my time rewatching every single Heroes episode. (Why did it have to end?)

Then this happened. And I'm posting it now before I regret it. Let me know if you enjoy! I've never actually written a one-shot before, only ever full length fics.

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Claire's jaw was clenched so tightly that even she could feel the muscles in her neck begin to ache.

The irregular 'snick' of a knife carving through an apple was the only sound besides the congested New York traffic outside, and was only one of the sources of her annoyance. It was directly mainly towards the man who doing the cutting.

"Slice?" Sylar asked, holding a piece of the red fruit out to her, impaled on the end of the blade.

He lifted an eyebrow at her scowl and shrugged, popping the apple into his mouth.

"Don't worry, Peter will be back soon."

His words weren't reassuring, and hers were scathing. "You said that an hour ago."

A sardonic grin tugged his lips as he slumped further into his chair. Claire had the sofa, he had the armchair opposite. The layout of Peter's apartment would have been cosy if she was in anyone else's company. "Time and plans are immaterial when you are summoned by the great Angela Petrelli."

Claire's answering snort was paired with a sneer. "Why are you even here? I don't need a babysitter. It's not as if I can get hurt."

Sylar stabbed another slice of apple. "After all this time, Claire, you can't still believe that."

She rolled her eyes and drummed her nails on her knee, exhaling slowly to try to keep her temper. Which would have been easier if the man opposite didn't start chuckling.

"For one so young and pretty, you are awfully full of anger."

His smirk made her curl her fingers into a fist.

"For one constantly preaching that he's changed, you aren't doing a very good job of showing it," she retorted, narrowing her eyes as he flicked the core of the apple into the bin with telekinesis.

"What were you expecting? Me to suddenly become a simpering, apologetic wisp of a man, just because I've given up murder and torture? Please." He moved to plop his feet on the coffee table. She curled her legs up beneath her. Sylar's eyes shone in amusement at her not-subtle and ineffectual attempt to put distance between them. "My, my – you're showing your naivety today, Claire-bear."

"Don't you dare call me that," she spat. He grinned.

"And so easy to tease. As I'm sure you'll agree, _Claire_, the events of the last few years have had a hardening affect, haven't they?"

"Peter told me what you were like before, and so has my dad." The words tumbled out before she knew why she was saying them. Even so, Sylar was visibly affected as he stopped twirling the knife he'd been cutting the apple with around his fingers and shot it across the room with such speed it was invisible. It clattered into the sink with a metallic clash that made her ears ring.

Claire jumped, heart racing at how quickly his mood had soured, but was determined to keep her face as passive as possible, knowing that for once, she had the upper hand in one of Sylar's verbal battles.

She met his dark, penetrating gaze with eyes she hoped were equally steely. "Tell me, what did daddy dearest say, hmm? I never pegged Noah Bennet to be a gossipy hen."

Claire reclined, settling back into the sofa cushions as she folded her arms across her chest. "You were a shy little watchmaker, plain and boring. A Momma's boy who always told you you were 'special' – and you wanted that so badly, didn't you? To be special. So when your ability manifested, you took the opportunity to become the most special of them all, because that's the only way you could do it, wasn't it? To steal the powers of others, because Lord knows there's nothing special or redeeming about _you_." She sneered, wrinkling her nose as she looked at him. A spike of irritation goaded her on as she saw no reaction flash across his features, no spark in his eyes. She leaned forward slightly, taking advantage of the opportunity to hurt him, to tell him what she thought of him.

"_You_ pretend to be other people and coerce college students into conversations about humanity and morality, before shoving it in their faces. _You_ destroy and murder families and scar children – what is it Molly calls you? Boogeyman. Did you know that? You horrify her. Is that what you wanted by 'special'?"

She paused for effect and Sylar seized the moment. He arched an eyebrow, sat up and clasped his hands together over his knees. The movement was so swift and fluid it surprised her, knocking the next string of words from her mouth.

"It's endearing how willing you are to be manipulated and lied to. That's another thing we have in common you know. So trusting of the people we think care about us." He shook his head in mock despair, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. He swept it back with a brush of his palm and stared vaguely past her shoulder to what she guessed was the window. Claire opened her mouth to challenge him but he got there first.

"I bet Daddy didn't give you the whole story, did he? Tell me, Claire – Do you believe that people can change?"

His eyes moved to hers then, but they were softer than before and genuinely inquisitive. The rapid change threw her, but still, she didn't hesitate.

"No."

Sylar seemed unsatisfied by her answer and shifted slightly to resume his watching of the window, the index finger of his left hand tapping against the index of his left.

"I tried to kill myself you know, after I killed Brian Davis. You probably won't believe it, but there was a time when I found being up to my elbows in brains sickening."

Claire forced her mouth to stay shut but her eyebrows rose high upon her forehead.

"I know, right. What is it Hiro calls me? 'Brain-Man'." He chuckled, though it was tinged with despondency rather than mirth. "The 'Brain-Man that vomited at having to dispose of a corpse and tried to hang himself because of it."

"So why did you? Do it, I mean." Her words were hard, but betrayed her curiosity as well as her distaste. Sylar noticed, of course, and Claire saw his lip twitch at her interest.

"You will never know the strength of the Hunger. It's more apt to call it an addiction, really." He closed his eyes. "The bliss, the pure satisfaction of _understanding_ is nearly impossible to..." The smile that warmed his face was as intriguing as it was disgusting, and Claire wondered if she'd ever feel that way about anything. But it didn't last, the look of contentment dropping as quickly as it appeared. "It's all consuming and I didn't know what I was doing until I'd done it." He shrugged but the gesture was desolate. "I saw what he did and needed to know how he did it. I didn't know there was another way – your father didn't tell me."

"What's my dad got to do with this? It's not like he's responsible." The mass of emotions bubbling in her chest turned to anger as their default and she lashed out at him. He seemed to be expecting it though, because he sat back into his chair, a smirk lifting his lip.

"Were you not listening when I said that I tried to _kill_ myself? And yet I'm still here." He spread his arms out, a wicked glint in his eye.

"Wait, you're saying my dad saved your life?"

"No, Elle cut the rope but we both know who wore the trousers in that relationship. She told me everything when we became a little more… _intimate_."

She scowled and he enjoyed her discomfort.

"Not only that, but they wanted me to kill again, wanted to see how I did it. So they served me up this fine trick along with a hot steaming peach pie." He made an apple float up out of the bowl on the table, lifted his left finger and sliced it through the air, cleaving the apple in two. He let the pieces fall to the floor. He looked at her, menacingly. "You could say they gave me the tricks of my trade. How kind. So much neater than bludgeoning."

"You're lying."

"When have I ever lied to you?"

She didn't know what to say. Noah was capable of it, that was a fact she couldn't kid herself over that anymore, but creating Sylar?

"Yes, that's how I stopped being Gabriel Gray and became the Sylar you know and hate." He sounded almost cheerful as he proceeded to levitate an orange from the fruit bowl and peeled it in the air, the bright skin draping elegantly in the air as the sweet scent was released.

"Do you have to do that?" she snapped reflexively.

"Fidgeting always was a trait of mine," he said, ignoring the words for the insult they were. "Never could sit still."

"Wait," she said as it suddenly dawned on her. "Did you just read my mind?" Her fingers clutched tightly into the arm of the sofa, digging into the soft stuffing.

"Yes," he said, almost bored. "That's what happens when you spend so much time in one person's head. Parkman's still alive and yet I have his ability. Proof enough for you that I don't need to kill to get what I want?" His lips pressed together in concentration as he focused on the orange peel floating between them. He set the fruit onto the table gently, so as not to bruise it and spill the juice, but twisted the peel, folding it on itself into a shape Claire couldn't quite make out.

"A rose for a rose doesn't seem quite as fitting when applied to you," he said, teasingly, but dropped the orange peel onto her lap. She picked it up and saw that he'd shaped it into a flower. It was actually very pretty, and reminded her of the vegetable carvings that were the centerpieces of the Chinese restaurants back home. But she quashed that thought before he could hear it.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"No, that's not one of my finest pieces. Halloween is my time to shine, just you wait."

Sylar propped his feet back up on the coffee table, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"You know," he said after a few moments of silence "I'm not listening to your thoughts now. I do try to keep out of it. It's vaguely disturbing, some of the things that go racing through some minds, but it's still quite new and I haven't got a firm hold on it yet."

"Then congratulations for nearly ensuring my privacy."

"Sarcasm gets old quick, Claire. Witty retorts are much more my cup of tea."

"Good job I'm not catering for you then, isn't it?"

He smiled at the ceiling. "There you go, better already."

Claire huffed and untucked her legs from beneath her, setting one on the floor and crossing the other over her knee. She inspected the peel-flower, peering at it and despairing the fact that it was already beginning to dry out. And that her fingers would no doubt stink of oranges for the rest of the day.

"So," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear as she twisted the flower between her finger and thumb. "What do we call you now?"

"Whatever you want."

She frowned. Peter called him 'Gabriel' which she didn't think fit him quite right, or 'Gabe', which suited him even less. And if he wasn't killing people any more, and was trying to turn over a new leaf, then 'Sylar' didn't fit properly either…

"Are you serious?" She asked, speaking quickly before she could regret them.

"About what?" He didn't move a muscle, just kept staring at the ceiling.

"What you were saying, asking if I thought people can change. You were obviously trying to get me to see that Dad helped to change you, but have you changed now? Or are you still who you were before?" Her forehead furrowed even further, and she could feel a puckering between her eyebrows. It was so confusing.

"I am honestly trying," he said, his voice soft and quiet, reminding her of how it had been when they had been talking in the closet, though she tried to push aside that association pretty quickly. "But it's hard. I don't think that change is completely reversible – once you know you cannot unknow sort of thing, but I'm trying to find a happy medium between who I was a long time ago and who I was more recently."

"All of what, two weeks ago."

His grin was wolfish. "Everything's gotta start somewhere. Besides, nobody would actually want Gabriel back for good. That boy was useless and no good to anybody."

"It's weird, hearing you talk about yourself like that. Like you're more than one person. Makes you seem crazy."

He laughed then, the sound pealing and oddly pleasant. "Who says I'm not?" He sighed and brushed his fingers through his hair. "I created Sylar, or at least my abilities helped me to. But these powers, they shape a personality, don't they? I mean, you can't tell me that Mohinder was completely unaffected by gaining his strength, or that Hiro didn't develop his weird hero complex as a result of finding out he could control time. Even you've probably changed more than you care to admit. Knowing that you can't die must have influenced your behavior at some point or another, made you do things you wouldn't have done before. I know I have."

Claire ignored his final, ominous statement and thought about it, but didn't like what she found. It hadn't taken long before she started lying to her family, becoming quasi-suicidal and self-destructive and downright vengeful. She had crashed a boy into a wall at 70mph for crying out loud, not caring if he lived or died. Sure, she felt bad about it now, but at the time?

She shrunk back into the corner of the sofa. She didn't like how Sylar's reasoning was making sense.

He picked up on it, either through 'slipping' in his control in regards to Matt's power, or just through the look on her face. "Like I said, I never lie to you."

"You said Peter would be back by now."

"Subtle change in topic," he said, rolling his eyes. "And I've already told you, your Granny doesn't care about being an inconvenience."

"How did you get roped into babysitting, anyway?" She asked, pushing herself up and wandering into the kitchen to get a drink. After filling a glass up with juice, she turned around to find that Sylar had also taken that moment to stretch his legs.

She hated being reminded how much taller he was than her. It made her feel vulnerable, even if he didn't have a tool box of magical powers at his disposal.

"Seeing as I live here, you're kind of in my way."

Claire spluttered on her juice. "What?"

"Oh you didn't know? I moved in with Pete after we came out of my nightmare. After five years of living together, he felt a bit weird being alone. And I didn't really want to go back to my place."

"But you've never been here the other times I've been here!"

"Has it crossed you mind that maybe I stayed out of your way?"

"Why?"

He threw his hands up. "Maybe because after eight years of near solitude it's difficult to be around so many people? Or because I tend not like to surround myself with people that hate me? Or because I knew it would be easier for you to not have to deal with me on top of everything else?"

She blinked at him. "You didn't want to be a burden on me?"

"Or be around people in general. I spend a lot of time in the library or at crappy, low budget private museums." He still hadn't sat down. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to let her question go unanswered, he huffed out a dramatic sigh and fixed her with a frank stare. "Look. You have God knows how many extremists out for blood, literally, so I thought you could do without having to deal with your own personal stalker for the time being."

"Personal stalker?"

"Well that might be a bit much. There's always been people after you. But they don't have a creepy picture of your face permanently etched on their arm, do they?" He tapped his right forearm with a grimace.

"Do you still have that?"

"Yep. And it doesn't feel like it's going anywhere soon."

"Feel?" She crossed an arm over her stomach, holding on to her hip whilst the other gripped her now empty glass.

"When the ink is moving, it itches," he said, scratching the spot where her face was. "Is it weird knowing it's there?"

"A bit. I kinda assumed it would go, you know, once our little chat was over with."

A small frown turned down the corners of his mouth. "I did too. But Lydia had some tattoos that were always there. Vines – I think they were like a personal history for her? I don't know. But I think some just don't go away. It's not a power you can directly control."

She shuddered as his mouth stretched into an almost predatory grin, small flashes of white teeth showing. "So Claire-bear, you have a tacky memorial tattoo in your honor that will be there for all eternity."

"Eurgh, don't remind me," she said, turning back to drop her glass into the sink, setting it down next to the discarded knife. "And don't call me that."

"Oh, and while we're on the subject of not lying, did you know that Daddy Noah is the reason why everyone else has avoided detection?"

"You mean from the media? I kinda assumed he had something to do with it. He usually does." She brushed past him and dropped back onto the sofa. She reached over and grabbed the orange segments and began eating them, popping each piece into her mouth, finding the way they popped between her teeth immensely satisfying. "But you say it like it's a bad thing. I wouldn't want them going after everyone. I don't think I could deal with another Danko right now."

Sylar rolled his eyes and lowered himself gracefully into the armchair again. "Oh Claire. We were at a Carnival. They could have passed it off as a magic trick, or gotten Michah to doctor a 'behind the scenes' video. Hell, Pete probably could have made something passable with a laptop and a phone. Shown wires or special effects or something. He didn't have to say you were the result of genetic testing and unleash them on you."

She shrugged, though unease was bubbling in her stomach. "I did this to myself." It was weird, having Sylar be the only one that didn't resent her for what she'd done. It was hard seeing the disappointment in Peter's eyes and being the source of so many sighs.

His laughter was short and sharp. Like a bark. "No you didn't. You were angry and tired. I've done more to expose us than that, and Pete blew up, Nathan and me for that matter flew around the world like the military wouldn't notice and God knows what else everyone else has done. Hell, I've seen people melt US military with microwaves.

"Noah knows your life long dream is to be normal, though we all know how likely _that_ is, but he's thrown away all chances of making that happen now."

"Yeah but what can be done? It's too late. I'll live with it."

"It's only a matter of time before something bad happens. I mean, it's only been two weeks and you've already been left with an ex-serial killer that literally sawed off the top of your head. How long can you be saved from the rest of the world?"

She didn't want to consider that being the reason for Peter's unexpected visit with Angela.

"So what do you think, . Got a plan?"

"I do actually-"He stopped and turned his head towards the door. "Claire," he said, quietly, standing up and moving so his back was facing her. "Don't move."

She held her breath as fear and adrenaline lanced through her, pumping her heart and tightening her muscles. Then she heard the footsteps. They weren't even being subtle.

This wasn't the first attempt at an ambush, that someone from a pharmaceutical company had tried to get their hands on her, or some rich person with criminal ties wanting her to sell or God knows what else. It almost made her wish for the simpler times when all she had to look out for was Sylar.

"Those were the good old days," he said, obviously reading all the minds he could.

When they kicked the door, he was ready, arms by his sides and fingers flexing. Claire shifted her weight forward, ready to get up and launch herself out of the window if she had to.

They were clumsy and noisy, and she could feel Sylar's irritation increase with every second they failed to get the door open. But he waited until they had inexpertly cut through the lock on the door with a narrow saw before springing into action.

"I told Pete to get a new door. That one is what, thirty years old? Doesn't even have a chain." He shook his head as he yanked the four men off of their feet and moved them further into the room before shutting the door and holding it shut behind them.

Claire could only watch with wide eyes. She recognized one of them, with the blonde hair with a center parting. He was a religious nut and couldn't decide whether she was sent from God or the Devil. Either way, he wanted to get his hands on her.

"How many more of you are there?" Sylar asked, his low voice the epitome of danger. It sent a thrill though her that she didn't want to acknowledge.

They were all too dumbstruck to do anything but moan in fear.

Sylar tutted and sent a glass flying to smash at their feet. The blonde man yelped.

"Right, there's a van outside. How hard was that, hmm?"

Their eyes grew impossibly wider when they realized that none of them had spoken.

"That's right, if you think that sweet thing over there is trouble, you'd best be glad you won't remember me."

He dropped them to the floor, making them land in the broken glass which elicited squeals of pain and desperation as they scrambled to their feet. But Sylar froze them in place with an outstretched hand. He tilted his head in the way Claire had seen Matt do, and she knew what was coming.

"You have seen nothing. The apartment was empty. You did not see me or Claire. You have changed your minds. Claire is of no interest to you. You will not hassle her again." He straightened them up, their eyes glassy and distant.

"You will convince your friends in the van to stop looking for her. You will tell everyone you meet that you don't believe what you saw on that video." He opened the door and marched them out, but not before making them hold each other's hands, linking them in a caricature of children's paper cutouts.

He slammed the door shut and brushed imaginary dust from his hands, laughing when he heard the shouts of surprise coming from the hallway.

Claire let out a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a fit of giggles.

Sylar watched her in amusement as he cleaned up the glass and propped a chair against the door to stop it from falling open when he stopped holding it shut with his powers.

"Thank you, for dealing with it so humanely," she said, a wide smile still brightening her face. "I didn't think you had it in you."

He shrugged. "I would have preferred to have done a bit more meddling, but I thought that you'd have wanted the problem to be solved quickly rather than with humour. Didn't think you approved of those methods."

"Next time don't assume anything."

He raised an eyebrow as the broken glass dropped into the bin with a melodious tinkle. "Next time?"

"Hate to break it to you but that was only one group."

"I'm aware of that. I just didn't think you'd want me to be, you know, involved." He was watching her with noticeable skepticism.

She picked the orange peel flower back up and twisted it between her fingers. "This seems more effective than my 'run away' approach has been so far. There's only so many times Peter can come in and swoop me away after all."

"He can take Parkman's power from me and do it."

She shook her head. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I'd feel better if you did it."

"I'm sorry, what."

"Not being funny, but you're the most relentless person I know. Have you ever given up on anything?"

She took his moment of hesitation as an answer. "Exactly. And we all know what you're capable of. And you dealt with those four a hell of a lot quicker than Peter's ever done. Man always tries to reason with them."

Sylar quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arms, stepping back to lean against the wall."Why the change of heart? You hated me an hour ago."

"If you hadn't noticed, I like to talk a bit talk. I don't hate you enough to reject the help that I obviously need. Having you around to fend off extremists isn't the same as making best friend bracelets and having sleep overs."

"So I'd be a super powered bodyguard? For an indestructible girl?" His lip twitched.

"If that's how you want to see it."

"No."

Claire's shoulders dropped and she sighed out her disappointment. "Oh, okay. It was only an idea." It was probably for the best. This warming towards Sylar probably wouldn't last and it wouldn't be long before he did _something_…

"No, I mean that isn't what I was thinking to fix this mess."

She looked up at him in surprise. "Really? What would you do?"

"How do you feel about faking a suicide?"

A slow smile spread across her face. "Very good."

"And losing bodyparts?" Sylar smirked.

"Not preferable, but if needed…"

He moved to sit beside her on the sofa, stretching his legs out infront of him as Claire put down her peel-flower on the coffee table. She couldn't believe she was about to stage her own death with Sylar.

But at least he knew what he was talking about.

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Reviews are love!

I'm considering expanding this... Let me know if you want more.


	2. Chapter 2

As always, not mine.

And thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy.

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"And you're sure this will work?" Claire looked down over the railing. They were only two floors up and the half hazard stack of wooden pallets she was supposed to aim looked pretty innocuous.

Though the face wasn't his, the smirk was all Sylar. "You think I'd let it fail?"

She shook her head slowly and hooked one foot through the bars of the railing like instructed. "And you've got the camera sorted, right?"

He sighed, impatient. "The lost tourist down there will find his camera inexplicably on and pointing over here in about ten seconds and there's a security camera for that bank pointing over here."

She narrowed her eyes and stretched her neck from side to side. "Well then. I suppose it's show time."

"You might not believe it," said the blue eyed, blonde haired face of the religious nut that tried to snatch her yesterday. "But there isn't even a tiny part of me that's going to enjoy this."

And then he pushed.

She heard the crack as her leg snapped, unable to untangle itself from the metal bars before the weight of her body and the momentum of the push sent her plummeting towards the unseemly pile of wood.

She screamed like she was supposed to, but it wasn't out of fear. It was a wail of retribution and a call for her freedom. The extremists will pay. People will be guilty. And more than anything, they'll be sorry.

Twisting in the air like the cheerleader she had been, she turned to face the pale blue sky. She blinked. Sylar was watching. She pursed her lips and blew him a kiss. In the face of death, this time she was brave.

She was tugged to the right by an invisible hand and she knew it was about to happen.

Smash. Black.

* * *

When she coughed, a splinter of wood flew out. "Yuk."

"You probably don't wanna see this then." A middle aged woman with dark hair and darker eyes held up a sharp plank covered in blood and chunks of tissue.

Claire wrinkled her nose before rolling to her side and reaching up to pat the back of her head. Her hair was matted with blood and tangled at the base of her skull.

The kind but weathered face grimaced as it rippled and stretched. Sylar's hands were soft and light as they pushed her shoulder to make her lie flat on her back. She frowned as she tried to sit up, but they were more forceful this time as they shoved her back down.

"Stay still. I've got to set you right." His face was how it was supposed to be, though she was surprised to see the concern that brought creases to his forehead and around his mouth.

"How long was I out?" Her voice was raspy as she coughed again. Thankfully, there were no more splinters.

"Two days. Some people took a bit of convincing." His hands were on her leg, the one that had snapped. The touch was gentle, almost a caress as one drifted to cover her knee and the other just a bit further up than mid-thigh.

"Get a move on." She hoped her ire disguised her shaking breath. She may not be able to feel pain, but what she was feeling right now wasn't what she wanted.

His lip twitched. "As you wish." With more pressure now, fingers digging into flesh, he realigned the bone and watched as the mottled blue and purple that had surrounded the break begin to fade. "That one didn't break the skin, but this one did." He tapped her calf.

She lifted her head as much as she could without using her elbows as leverage and saw a milky white stub poking out just above her ankle. "Huh. It looks like a broken tree branch. You know, one that got snapped."

"Hmm." He looked thoughtful, his brow furrowed as he pressed the bone back into her leg and held it there as it fused back together with its other half. The sickly mess of blues and greens, browns and purples disappeared and her leg was once again its usual creamy pale. "What does it feel like? Now that it doesn't hurt."

She drummed her nails on the table. It wasn't lost on her how strange this conversation was. "It tickles a little, like your arm of leg or whatever is covered in tiny ants." She lifted her leg and let it drop with a clunk on the metal bench. "It feels heavy though, for a while. And obviously some things take longer than others to fix. I have a headache right now that won't shift for a while. Just achy and lethargic I guess. I dunno. Never thought about it really. Focused on what wasn't there than what was."

Sylar nodded, like it was what he expected. He didn't speak and Claire didn't know what to do. It was like he was oblivious to the atmosphere that had swallowed the room.

"Didn't it work?" She didn't know why else he would seem so sad.

He tipped his head to look at her, confused. "Of course it did."

"Oh."  
He walked over to the sink, taking a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water from the sink.

"I don't know if you're supposed to drink that."

He didn't pause for a second. "What's it gonna do, kill you?"

She shrugged as a small smile tugged her lips. She took the glass and took small sips.

Leaning against the bench, Sylar crossed his arms. "The video recordings have been everywhere. The tourist one all over the internet and the footage from the security camera on the news. The guy, whose name is Arnold Ashby by the way, is in custody awaiting his hearing. No bail, I think."

Claire wiggled her toes as the pins and needles began to dissipate. "Arnold Ashby." It was the name of a man who ran a bible group, not a murderer. "Poor guy."

His eyes flashed to hers. "You don't feel sorry for him." It wasn't a question and it wasn't a reprimand.

"No you're right. But still, I probably should." She lifted her arm and rolled her wrist. It clicked. "You're a bad influence on me already."

He didn't smile like she'd hoped, but carried on with the events of the last few days. "Once I'd dropped your head onto the wooden spike, your body shut down. Cracked femur, cracked calf," he was pointing at the various body parts. "Broken vertebrae, another splinter of wood found its way into your side and popped a kidney-"

"And these are the medical terms, I presume."

He shot her a glare. She sat up but was breathless. She hated how long it took to get back to normal. She held out the glass for him to refill it. Which he did.

"We were so thorough they didn't bother taking you into hospital, just straight down here, where this lady filled out the autopsy report." He waved his hand over to the corner, where the dark haired lady was slumped in a plastic chair. "Don't worry, she's sleeping. The undertakers are going to laugh about it good and hard when they see her tomorrow."

"What undertakers?"

"The ones that are taking you to the crematorium." He shook his head like he was disappointed by her powers of deduction. "You can't dig up a pile of ash."

"What's being burnt? There isn't another body, is there?" Fear stabbed her in the chest and her eyes widened.

"Oh for God's sake. Of course there isn't. When you can trick people into believing what you want, why bother with all of that? And when you can forge documents, a paper trail isn't exactly dangerous."

"I didn't know you could do that."

"With the wave of my hand, I can make it so you were a signatory on the Declaration of Independence."

She wrinkled her nose. "Good job I'm not asking you to change history."

"Oh but I have. When we get back you'll find a nice new packet of your history. Birth certificate, medical records, report cards… I bumped you up a few grade points." He winked, but there wasn't the smugness in the gesture she'd come to expect. It was kind of empty.

"New everything? Oh my God." Panic gripped her. She swung her legs over the side of the bench, the cool stainless steel cutting into the backs of her thighs. Her fingers curled into her dirty, matted hair and her breath came in short pants. "Who am I now?"

Sylar was in front of her before she could blink. He lifted her face with his hands, cupping her cheeks like they might crack under too much pressure. "Nothing's changed that matters. Your parents are listed, your sibling is called Lyle, you grew up in Odessa and went to school there. Your name is still Claire Bennet – thought you'd want to keep hold of that one for as long as you could, though you don't have a middle name anymore. It's pretty common so shouldn't cause too many problems." He let his hands drop to his sides. "You'll have to start college again, seeing as you're dead and whatever, but everything is just as it was before. Good old system - swallows you right up."

Claire knotted her fingers together in her lap, over the powder blue cotton tunic they'd put her in, and tried to keep them from trembling.

It was like everything from the last few weeks was dropping on her at once and adrenaline pumped her heart harder than it had ever beat before. Gently, Sylar pushed the top of her back, guiding her head so that her forehead rested on her knees.

"Calm down, Claire bear. Everything's going to be fine."

She snorted. He laughed.

"I don't lie, remember?" He tapped a finger at the back of her neck, before jumping up to sit next to her. She could see where the too-short trousers didn't cover his ankles. He was pale, not like her, he had an olive tone to his skin. The blue of his veins showed through in sharp contrast to the black of his socks.

"Wanna hear what the others think?"

She took a deep breath and unlocked her fingers, moving her hands so her palms were flat on the bench and her fingers curled over the edge, gripping tightly. There was something calming about the cool smoothness. Slowly she straightened her back, breathing deeply but keeping her eyes focused on her knees. She nodded.

"Well, I don't actually know for sure. Peter's been fielding the calls and keeping them away. He's been extremely helpful, you know, especially towards someone who's about to kill his niece."

"I think it's what Angela called him for the other day." Her voice was quiet but level. She gripped the table tighter. She saw his shrug out of the corner of her eye. His legs started swinging.

"Probably. But your family know you're fine. Your Momma isn't exactly overjoyed with Daddy-Noah, what with this being his fault and all, but I don't think she knows it's me that's been helping you."

Claire shook her head slightly, lifting her chin. She was still a little dizzy, but not too bad. Her heart was slowing down and she couldn't hear it in her ears any more. "She hasn't been happy with him for years. And I doubt Peter would have thought it was a good idea."

"No siree. Parkman's on his way here since Molly couldn't find you – what with you being out of it for the last two days, and a few of the carnies have showed up. Our mutual friend Lydia for one." He scratched his forearm absent mindedly. Hiro has a soft spot for you and has been sending Ando every few hours to hassle Pete. It's pretty funny."

She looked up at him, almost scared of the answer to her next question. "And my dad?"

Sylar rubbed his stubble and his mouth shifted into a sour grin. "Noah knows alright. He knows all of it."

"And?" She was turned to him fully now, eyes wide and expectant. She felt something pop in her hand and relaxed her hold on the bench.

"And he's not happy. In the slightest."

Claire swallowed. "Where is he?"

"Last I heard he was at the apartment, but it wouldn't surprise me if he's on his way here now. I was listening to the radio before you woke up," he nodded to the small green radio sat on a stack of books on the shelf. "And they've said which coroner's office you were being held."

"We have to go." She jumped off the bench and immediately regretted it. Her head span and she nearly lost her balance.

Sylar held out an arm to steady her, holding her shoulder. "There's no rush. It's not like he can barge his way in here. Dead bodies have more security than living ones."

She turned and looked at him properly. The circles under his eyes were dark, like he hadn't slept in the two days she'd been out. But there was also apprehension there, and uncertainty. Like he wasn't in control and didn't like it. Didn't know what to do about it.

Lifting her hand, she held it on his forearm. His fingers tightened around her shoulder. "Look, we can't stay here forever. For one thing, I'm hungry. Regenerating this much bone and tissue isn't easy. Secondly, my dad will get in here. Doors and security guards don't stop him from doing anything, especially if those security guards are the regular kind." She gave him a frank look, but softened her voice. "Hiding from problems don't make them go away. And like you said, Peter's been helping you, so that's something."

"He's the kinda guy that gets on with things he can't change." Sylar lifted an eyebrow. "When he sees you strolling around, there's no telling what he'll do."

She let go of his arm and took a few steps back. "Are you kidding? He can't do anything. What power does he have now anyway?"

"Emma's been there constantly and he keeps picking her powers up by accident."

Claire laughed and tried not to think how it was that he kept getting her ability. She knew there had to be skin contact. "So he's a siren that can see colours. I'm not scared."

"Claire." There was frustration in his tone and surprisingly, it seemed like he was pleading with her.

Sylar's shoulder were slumped and he was staring at the floor. Sympathy welled up inside her chest. He didn't want to do anything else to upset Peter. Eight years of friendship and understanding weren't to be trifled with. Especially when you didn't have anyone else to turn to.

No matter what people said, it wasn't easy to pick up and start afresh.

"Don't worry, I'll stick up for you." She smiled. It grew wider at his expression of disbelief. That must have been worrying him too – what would happen when she woke up. "Now tell me you brought me some clothes."

His answering smile was wry. "I knew there was something I'd forgotten." He slid off of the bench with his enviable grace and strode over to the coroner. He took the cardigan from her shoulders and threw it to Claire.

It was thick, wooly and grey. It smelt like expensive perfume and cigarettes. And it thankfully dropped to her knees.

"So how do we get out of this joint?" She said, doing up the buttons to cover the ugly blue tunic. There was nothing she could do about her bloody hair, but they seemed to have cleaned off the blood and dirt from her skin.

"The door to the garage is just out there, then you have a choice of a piggy back or standing on my feet."

"And we're flying back to the apartment, right?" It wasn't like she could go back to her hotel room. And her dorm room was definitely out of the question. She would be buying a lot of new stuff, it seemed.

"Yep. Nowhere else really, unless you want to pop into the Petrelli mansion?"

She shuddered.

Sylar had frozen in place, head tilted towards the ceiling and a scowl across his face. "Noah's here."

"Told you he wouldn't wait." She yelped as he grabbed her hand and yanked her towards the door, which flew open then shut with a click and she heard the locks snap into place.

"Don't worry, she's about to wake up," he said as they turned down a corridor. "And will be annoyed when she realizes she forgot her cardigan at home. Gets cold down here."

They ran through the garage, past the hearses and vans. They didn't stop when they got outside. He wrapped his arms around her waist and they shot up into the sky.

"Thank you," she said as she turned to press her cheek to his chest, trying to get as comfortable as possible for ride. Trying to alleviate the pressure of his arms digging into her back and sides, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

He held her tighter.

They were silent as they flew over New York, the night air crisp but warm. She recognized where they were and knew it would only be a few more minutes before they landed on Peter's rooftop.

"Sylar?" Her voice was barely a whisper but she knew he would hear her.

"Yes?"

"I'm tired."

It took him a moment to answer. "Me too."

* * *

I'd be very grateful for any feedback - reviews are love!


	3. Chapter 3

The longest yet.

* * *

Claire had barely opened the door before she was yanked forward and wrapped in a bone crushing hug. Literally. Her collarbone popped.

"Gah, Peter!" She untangled herself as best she could and brought her hand to rub the tingling area just before her shoulder. "Have you been hanging around with Suresh or something? Jeez." She scowled and pushed past her uncle and flopped onto the sofa.

"Yeah, Pete. God." Sylar deftly moved past Peter, who was stood stock still, and perched on the arm of the chair. His smile gave away his teasing. He was glad to be back.

Peter turned to face them, scowl in place as he brushed his hair out of his eyes. Claire raised an eyebrow and huffed, folding her arms in preparation for the shouting that was about to happen.

"What the hell!" There it was. "Where have you been? You," he pointed to Sylar. "I'm used to you disappearing like a goddamn housecat, but Claire? Do you know what I thought when I got back and saw this place? All the broken furniture and the door wide open?" He shook his head and started pacing. "And then the news, that guy pushing you off the balcony and you not getting up. I thought that was it, that they'd found a way to kill you for good and you're here wearing a hospital gown and an ugly cardigan-"

Peter was interrupted by Sylar's low chuckle. "What, you think this is funny?" He picked up his keys from the bureau and threw them at Sylar with such force, they nearly met their mark.

With wide eyes, Sylar stopped them centimeters before they hurtled into his nose. "Honestly? Yeah, I kinda do. We assumed that you would put two and two together. Didn't your mama tell you what was going to happen?"

The men both frowned with equal amounts of confusion. Claire decided to stay quiet and watch for the time being. She didn't know how long it would take her dad to get here, and her interrupting this – conversation - wouldn't speed up them getting to the same page.

"What do you mean? What's she got to do with it?" Peter moved and sat on the coffee table, so that he was facing Sylar. He reached out his hand. "Give me mind-reading. That'll make it quicker."

Sylar snatched his arms and held them close to his chest. The gesture was almost comical. "Nuhuh. Claire needs to hear it too."

She shot him a grateful smile and Peter sighed. In either frustration or resignation, she wasn't sure. Clearing her throat, she spoke. "We thought that your mom called you away so that we would be left alone and would end up planning my public execution. We thought it would work and her lack of interference seemed to prove it."

"How did _that_ happen?" Peter's eyes were wide and furious and his hands were thrown up in the air.

She shifted so that she was sat on the edge of her seat. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "The man – the one you saw push me, he and some of his friends broke in here and tried to snatch me away. Sylar stopped them, obviously, but I was tired of running away and it clearly wasn't stopping them from coming, so we came up with a plan to end it for good."

"I shifted into that pudgy ass-hole and pushed Claire onto a stack of pallets, made sure a shard went into her kill-switch and that cameras were filming. It wasn't too difficult actually."

"This was your idea? Why? How?" Poor Peter looked exhausted. She rubbed his shoulder and bent forward to kiss his temple.

"I'm sorry, Peter. It all happened so quickly and I was desperate. You know what it's like to be hounded and I didn't want that for the rest of my life. Because you know, it's gonna be a pretty long time."

Her attempt to lighten the mood didn't work.

"Why did you do it?" Peter glared at Sylar as if he could pull the answers from his thoughts without taking Matt's ability.

"Honestly?" Sylar dropped down into the seat of the armchair gracefully and rested an elbow on the arm. He wiggled his fingers and an apple flew into his hand from the fruit bowl. It made Claire smile, thinking of how he did it before and she was sure he saw from the corner of his eye. He took a bite. "She wanted me to. I could help, so I did. And let's face it, we can't all put our lives on hold to keep those grimey men off her, especially not now, if I'm reading you right." Sylar grinned and lifted an eyebrow knowingly.

"Wait, what?" She looked at her uncle, who was pushing his hair back from his face and trying to fight the blush creeping up his cheeks. "Peter, what's he talking about?"

Her uncle rubbed his hand over his face before turning to her. "What my mom really wanted to tell me when you left. Emma – she's pregnant."

"Oh my God!" She launched herself out of the sofa and wrapped her arms around her him. "Congratulations! But why didn't you wait until Emma told you? Or hasn't she said yet?"

Peter shook his head and his voice grew soft. She felt his shoulders slump in her grip. "She's scared about what might happen. She's new to this remember, and doesn't know what to do about maybe having a child with abilities. She knows about little Matty and how he manifested when he was tiny and she's _deaf_ remember? And then you disappeared… Mom was telling me so I understood why she was acting distant."

Poor Peter, it must be killing him. Claire had never met anyone that felt things so strongly – when he loved it was with everything he had, and when he hated it was almost as forceful. Her eyes flicked to Sylar, who was watching his friend with a quiet intensity. She had no idea how Sylar had been able to move from one column to the other. But then Peter was also so incredibly forgiving…

"So have you spoken to her since you found out? What day is it again?" She bit her lip, trying to remember how many days she'd lost.

"It's Thursday and you've been gone for a few." Peter sighed again. "And no I haven't – not properly. We've been on opposite shifts and she's been spending more time with her mom or saying she's too tired to come over."

"She probably didn't know how to handle you being frantic with worry over Claire." Sylar said, shooting his apple core into the bin. "So stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"Hey, I'm not!" Peter kicked Sylar's shin.

"No you're right, you're acting like a ten year old and throwing a pity party."

Claire laughed under her breath, but stopped when Peter glared at her. "He's right, Peter. And men are so dense." She shook her head as she stood up. "Just invite her over for a lovely dinner and talk to her. Let her see I'm back fine and that you're sorry for being a jerk and you're worried about her." She shrugged as she took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. "I guarantee she'll let it spill." She drained the glass and put it on the side with a flourish. "Right. I'm getting a shower to wash these hospital chemicals off." She screwed up her nose. "And I'd really appreciate it if someone found me something else to wear? I'm bound to have left something lying around or Emma would have. We're about the same size." She took a towel out of the linen closet and went into the bathroom, but not before seeing Sylar hold his hand out for Peter to take. So much for letting her in on the conversations.

She screwed up the crisp gown and ugly cardigan and threw them into the bin, before stepping under the hot water. She watched her arm redden and fade back to pale as the scalding water hit it and her skin adjusted to the temperature. A pang in her chest made her lean her forehead against the tiles as she wondered if she'd ever be able to have children, if her body would accept it as normal or try to fix it.

The pang turned into a dull ache as apprehension and dread filled her, making her scrape her bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to keep her face from contorting in sadness or rage. She wasn't sure which, wasn't even sure if she wanted children or if anyone would even want them with her.

Picking up the shampoo bottle and squeezing it with more force than necessary, she rubbed the too-much shampoo into her hair and forced herself to calm down, reminding herself that she was only a wall away from two mind readers. Besides, it didn't matter now, and it wouldn't stop her from feeling happy for Emma and Peter. They'd make wonderful parents. And even if she couldn't carry a baby, there were other ways of having them.

Resolute, she finished washing her hair and rinsing the morgue residue down the drain before turning off the water and stepping out into the bathroom. She hadn't noticed how hot the water must have been, because ever surface was covered in either steam or a thin layer of moisture.

After cracking open the window, she wrapped herself in her towel, which thankfully dropped down to her ankles, and slowly opened the bathroom door. A small pile of clothes was on the floor, which she snatched up before shutting herself back into the bathroom.

There was no dry place to put the clothes, so she put them on the floor as she sorted out what she had. A thin yellow sundress and a black and grey plaid shirt that was soft from wear. There was a bikini with the tags still on, which would have to do, and she smiled that Peter had thought of giving it to her.

Emma had bought it on their one and only shopping trip together because it was on sale and she had been in the process of convincing Peter that they needed to get away from the stress and hassle of New York after the Carnival. Claire had gone because Peter, being surprisingly stereotypical, complained about spending a whole day wandering the streets and looking for clothes. It, like most other things on a sale rail, had been put on the wrong hangar so had been the wrong size. Turns out Emma was a procrastinator because she'd never taken it back.

Claire hoped that they'd take that holiday soon, before the baby arrived, because if anyone deserved a little time to themselves, it was them.

Everything fit comfortably apart from the shirt, which hung lower than the dress. She folded up the sleeves and decided to make do. It was warm and smelt good.

Stepping out into the living room, she began to plait her hair back. It would be too much to hope that Peter had a hair dryer lying around. She was just about to ask when she saw him. He was sat on the sofa with his head in his hands.

"Hey, everything ok?" She approached him slowly like he was an injured animal, afraid to spook him.

He shook his head and blew out a breath. "What I wouldn't give for a break."

"Funny, I was just thinking that. You and Emma should get away somewhere for a week. Somewhere warm would be great – I think she mentioned something about Hawaii." She stopped when Peter raised his head and pointed towards the door.

"Oh." Noah Bennet was stood with folded arms and a scowl. "What are you doing here?" The venom in her voice surprised her, like it did her dad, judging by the way his forehead wrinkled.

"I could ask you the same question. What on earth is going on here?" He looked accusingly at Peter, who raised his hands to plead his innocence.

She sighed and rubbed her temples to combat the phantom headache that if she was anyone else would have been forming. "Peter had nothing to do with it, Dad, and I'm getting pretty tired of explaining." Claire moved her hands to her hair and squeezed the moisture out of her plait. Water dropped onto the wooden floor with a patter.

"This would be so much easier if you weren't so hostile, Noah," Peter said, exhaustion weighing down his voice.

Noah's eyes narrowed. "Well I wouldn't need to be if I was told about things beforehand – wait. What do you mean Peter had nothing to do with it? Who took you out of the morgue?"

Claire winced as understanding as he tightened his fists and clenched his jaw. "Tell me it wasn't _him_." The words were slow and full of danger and implied threats. But after the few days she'd had, it only made her laugh. Which apparently wasn't the right reaction.

"You think this is funny?" Noah strode over to her and gripped her shoulder tightly. He shook her hard enough to make Peter stand up and Claire's eyes to turn steely.

"I suggest you take your hand off of me, _Dad_," she spat, but was relieved when he did as he was told.

She walked past him, stopping only when the sofa was between them. She rested her palms on the back and dug her fingers into the cushions, not taking her eyes off of the man that had her in an equally intense stare.

"Claire, you had better start talking. And get to the point."

She crossed her arms and looked to the ceiling, tired of having to repeat herself."Fine. Sylar was here when some guys came in to kidnap me. He stopped them and then we came up with a plan to stop this altogether. You know I hate running and I would have been running for the rest of my life. And now, for all intents and purposes, I'm dead. And I can start again."

"Why him? Why not-"

"Why not you? You're the reason this got so out of control for me in the first place! And not being funny, but no one else is capable of orchestrating something this complicated. And it went off without a hitch. Well, until you came barging into the morgue and causing a scene." She glared at him but took no small amount of pleasure in the ire that was written across his face. "I'm glad you aren't trying to deny it. It's good that you can admit to throwing your daughter under the bus."

Noah's fists were pressed tightly into the seam of his trousers in an attempt to control his temper. "You had to be a warning, Claire. It had to be you. No one else could have made it."

Claire let out a sharp breath and slammed her hands back down onto the cushion. "A warning! You have got to be joking."

"Noah, do you even know what you've done?" Peter looked up beseechingly, but with a surprising level of calm. She imagined this was how he spoke to his patients when they were trapped in a burning vehicle.

"She had to face the consequences of throwing herself off of the ferris wheel. The others needed to see that making their abilities public knowledge would spell disaster."

"She? I'm still here you know, and the one you should be having this conversation with."

The door opened and Claire held her breath. Sylar strolled in, carrying a large bag of what smelt like Chinese food. Noah pulled out his gun and had it trained on Sylar in the blink of an eye, but the tall man strolled past him like he wasn't even there.

"I bet you're hungry. Pete, I got you chicken and blackbean and Claire, I figured you'd be a sweet and sour kinda gal." He started unpacking the boxes and laying them out on the table, but not before shooting her a wink that she didn't know what to make of. How could he be acting so normally with her father looking at him with what could only be described as murderous rage?

He caught her eye and answered cooly. "You have to admit, this is pretty normal. I can't remember how long it's been since Bennet had a gun on me. It's kinda nice. Like old times." He turned to the man in the horn rimmed glasses. "Uninvited guests don't get food." Then he sat in the armchair, took a polystyrene cup of soup and started drinking straight from it.

As she moved around the sofa to sit by Peter, she could see her father's rage building by the colour of his face and Peter stifling a smile. Sylar was eating like he was the only one in the room, reaching into a bag and pulling out a spring roll and dipping it into the soup. Chicken and sweetcorn by the looks of it.

She took a fork – never having got the hang of chopsticks with rice – and tucked in. He was right about her order, and the fork, and it was delicious. It had been too long since she'd eaten.

Noah, having enough of being ignored, stomped over the table and slammed his gun down on it. "Careful, you'll crack the glass," Sylar said, not looking up. Noah raised the gun and made to fire, but with a flick of his finger, the gun removed itself from Noah's grip and found its way into a cupboard. "If you can't play nice, Noah, you don't deserve to have the toys."

Claire laughed then, covering her mouth to stop from showering her father in half chewed chicken. The look he shot her then was of pure betrayal. "Come on, Dad, you're hardly being fair. Just sit down and say your bit and get this over with. I'm tired. Coming back from the dead isn't easy you know." When he didn't take her offered seat, she stabbed a piece of water chestnut with as much force as she could. "Fine, stay standing." She carried on eating and didn't look at him.

Clearly not used to Claire being so rude to him, he looked at her for the time it took her to eat two more forkfuls of sauce and sticky rice before he spoke. "What has he done to you?"

"Apart from make my life a whole lot easier? Nothing." She looked to Sylar. "Did you get anything to drink?"

A can of lemonade flew out from the bag and landed in front of her. "Thanks. Show off."

He shrugged but a smirk tugged his lips.

"What about me?" Peter whined.

Sylar waved his hand towards the bag but nothing happened. "The bag's right next to you, you lazy ass. And flying drinks for you doesn't have the dual effect of winding up Bennet."

"Damn right it's winding me up!" Clearly fed up of being ignored, Noah's voice rose to decibels above comfortable hearing. "What did you do to my daughter?"

"Like she said, I didn't do anything she didn't want me to." Sylar put down his now empty cup of soup and took a box of noodles from the table. He picked out the prawns and shoved them at Peter, who took them with resignation. Claire didn't think she'd ever get used to their relationship.

The implications of his words hit Noah like a fist, and whilst Claire knew nothing had happened, she couldn't help but be offended that her father thought that she'd do anything like _that_. "If you put a finger on her-"

"I didn't, you idiot, and neither will you." Claire looked up to see that Sylar had frozen her father in place. His hand had been reaching out to grab her. She reached out and prodded his outstretched palm with her fork, making sure it was hard enough to leave the impressions of the prongs.

"Seriously, Dad. I'm not a doll you can drag about whenever you want, and do you not trust me so much that you think I can't make my own decisions?"

"You haven't done much lately to change my mind, have you?"

She raised her eyebrows. "And you have the monopoly on honesty and trust, is that it? How much faith have I put in you since this all started happening? And what have I got in return?" She gripped the fork tighter to stop her hand from shaking. From the corner of her eye she could see Peter chewing slowly and awkwardly, and Sylar eating happily like he was in the prime seat in a cinema. "But what's this about really? That I trusted Sylar with this instead of you? Or that I took matters into my own hands for once?"

"Claire, I am your father."

"Yeah but hardly father of the year, right? How's Lyle?"

Noah winced openly at that, and though a spark of remorse ran through her at saying such awful things, she knew they had to be said. And now was the time, when he couldn't avoid it.

Claire sighed. "Do you know how tiring it is being the damsel? I've always had to rely on everyone else. Rapid healing is the least offensive ability you can get, but ironically the most desirable, and this is my one chance to live under the radar – at least for this life-time. Your life-time. Do you really want to visit me in an underground bunker? Because that was the alternative."

She piled rice onto her fork and ate it, slumping back in her seat, waiting for a response, but was surprised when she didn't immediately get one. Risking a glance, she saw that his eyes were shut.

Peter rubbed her back and she felt the tension melt away. Until Sylar opened his mouth.

"I'm not controlling her thoughts, Noah, but I am listening to yours. And so is Peter." Sylar dropped his hold on Noah, who stumbled backwards at regaining use of his limbs. "There's no use reasoning with someone who won't listen." He directed those words at Claire, she knew, but her father answered.

"And you know all about that, don't you."

"Dad, shut up!" She was almost screaming. She threw her fork at him but Sylar caught it and nudged it back into her hand, which annoyingly made Peter laugh. "And seriously, you stop it too." She glared at Sylar who looked like he had no intention of doing what she asked. "Is that proof enough that I have free will? Lobbing a fork at you? He's not controlling me and for crying out loud, if he was do you really think that he's help me commit suicide? He's got my power already, there's nothing else he can get."

"Claire, don't be naïve."

She was temporarily shocked into silence. "So in your mind he's a rapist too?" She spat the words out, disgusted when her Dad didn't try to correct her. "Is that really how you see people? Everyone's a threat? They do one bad thing and suddenly they do all the other crimes too?"

"He's a mass murderer, Claire – I didn't think I needed to remind you of that." His eyes flicked across her appraisingly. "And you're wearing his shirt."

"And Emma's dress and bikini. I didn't think I'd have to explain about wanting to get out of the gown I woke up in at the morgue. And he hasn't done _anything_to me, Dad." She thought back to sitting with him in the closet. "And he had opportunity. Hell, last time I saw him, I stabbed him in the eye with a pencil and he let me get away with it."

"And it hurt," Sylar added helpfully before taking a sip of coke.

This conversation was bringing back all the horrible memories she'd suppressed. "Hey Dad, while we're talking about good and bad, remember how I drove that footballer into a wall at 70mph? I sure as hell wanted to kill him. He killed me first though, so I'm sure that makes it alright."

She heard Peter's sharp intake of breath beside her. She turned to him, eyes flashing. "Yeah, he tried forcing me but when I struggled, I ended up with a tree branch lodged in my brain. Barrel of laughs that was." She swung back round to her Dad. "So if you think bringing up sexual abuse is a good idea around me, you are so far across the line you can't even see it." She couldn't even bring herself to look for Sylar's reaction. She regretted bringing it up at all.

"Claire-bear, you know that's not what I was trying to do-"

"Wasn't it? Bringing up a painful experience and using it to try and make me scared? Afraid so I'll come home with you?"

He didn't say anything, which meant that she was right. At least he'd stopped trying to lie. She briefly wondered how Sylar felt, knowing constantly if people were telling the truth or lying. Right now she was sure it was akin to bliss.

Her eyes were hard when she looked at her father. "Think about what you have to lose. Until you're ready to apologise, I have nothing more to say to you. And stop using the big-bad-Sylar routine. That doesn't wash anymore now I know who's to blame."

She took a forkful of her now cold rice, before draining her lemonade and curling herself into the corner of the sofa.

She heard her dad try to speak, but his voice was cut off.

"Come on Mr. Bennet, out you go."

In her peripheral vision, she saw Sylar's fingers walking through the air and Noah mimicking the movement towards the door. She never thought she'd be glad to see that puppet power used on anyone.

When the door slammed shut, she sank into the sofa cushions like her bones had turned to jelly. Peter wrapped at arm around her and pulled her into his side. With her head resting on his shoulder, she let her mind go blank. He was talking to her, but she wasn't listening. She was so tired of fighting with her Dad, confused at her quick defence of Sylar, annoyed that Peter had sat that with his mouth shut, more passive that she'd seen him in a long time. It seemed there was only person who wasn't afraid of her father, and he was currently cleaning away the mess from their dinner.

* * *

When she woke up, the sky outside the windows was dark.

Pushing herself up from the sofa, she stretched until her joints popped. Her hair was pretty much dry, so she must have been sleeping for a while.

Looking around, she assumed the apartment was empty. It was still, nearly silent if not for the sounds of the street outside.

It felt like her whole body was filled with sadness. She turned on the kitchen light and saw a tray of cakes were cooling on the side. Resting her finger on one, she realized it was still warm.

"Now you touched it you're gonna have to eat it."

Claire clutched her chest as she span round, heart pumping wildly. Sylar emerged from the shadows. He was smirking, but it didn't hide the wariness in his eyes.

"Did you make these?" She looked at him incredulously.

"Yep. Peter text me. Emma's coming over when her shift's done and these were a special request. I think he's foregoing the whole dinner-side chat and going straight in with cake and hot chocolate."

"Smart man." She reached over and took the one she'd prodded.

"Be careful, the jam inside will still be-"

She lifted an eyebrow at his warning. The jam was burning hot, but it didn't hurt her. Just made it taste sweeter if anything. "This is good – I didn't know you could cook."

"It's not cooking, it's _baking_. And yeah. Emma made them once when I was keeping her company. They're her favourite. Raspberry and white chocolate."

She leant against the counter and picked out the tiny chunks of white chocolate, eating them off of her finger tip. "It's not fair, really, making you do the legwork to make his girlfriend happy."

He shrugged. "Are you really going to complain? She's not going to eat fourteen of them and chocolate gives Peter a headache."

"Poor guy." One benefit of her power was she didn't have to watch what she ate. Nutrition would never be an issue for her. "It's weird, seeing you so domestic." After the argument earlier, it seemed like tact had gone out of the window.

"Don't censor yourself, Claire." He held his hands up. "I didn't mean to hear it – after using it earlier the mind-reading won't shut off. I have to remember to not hear things, which is kinda difficult if you think about it."

"I guess so. Can you use it the other way?"

"Like let someone know what I'm thinking? Dunno." He was quiet for a minute. "Did that work?"

"No. Don't know why I thought it would. It's not like I can heal other people."

"Have you tried? I'm pretty good at making other people understand things, and that's my natural power. Maybe it works in a roundabout way." He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows, making him look like he was trying to solve a complicated math problem.

"How so? And do you think Emma will be annoyed if I eat another?"

"If she is, blame it on Peter." Sylar shifted his weight from one foot to another for a moment, and Claire was surprised to see how conflicted he was. He cleared his throat and didn't meet her eyes. "Your healing, don't think of it as mending broken bones and fixing burns, but more in the abstract."

Claire closed her eyes as she folded the paper cake case into a tiny triangle. "I've had quite a testing day, Sylar. Now isn't the time for subtle rhetoric."

"Fine. Peter's an empath, right? He's extremely personable. I can't think of anyone who doesn't like the guy."

She frowned as she took a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and poured it into a glass. It was warm. "I popped out and got a few things when you were asleep. Peter lives off of cereal, apples and Doritos apparently." He reached over and touched a finger to her glass. She felt it grow colder until the juice was perfectly chilled.

"Thanks, you didn't have to do that." When he forgot to be menacing, Sylar was actually pretty considerate. It was becoming more and more apparent when Peter kept him around.

He shrugged again, which was becoming an instinctive response for the both of them, it seemed. "And when I said I was good at helping other people learn, I wasn't lying – I was a tutor, once. And since then I've been told I'm very persuasive." He wiggled his eyebrows, which made her roll her eyes.

"Be serious. And please, just spell out what you're getting at, because I'm not making massive cognitive leaps over here." She was still hungry and felt dehydrated from her resurrection and the events of the afternoon.

"You are a healer, Claire, just not in the way you heal yourself."

She shifted her weight to one foot as she leant against the counter "What are you talking about, no I'm not."

He took a small step towards her and moved until he caught her eye. "Yes, you are. Stop being stubborn and listen. Everyone likes you, Claire, because you're easy to be around. You make everything a little bit easier. People flock to you, can't you see that?"

"They flock to me because they're trying to take my power or to protect me."

Sylar huffed. "You're using the same excuse you told your dad not to use earlier. You're more than a human shield or the key to eternal life. Hero adores you, so does Ando, and Michah, and that Gretchen girl. Lydia and everyone from the carnival. They didn't want you because of your regeneration. And if you're so intent of using that tired old excuse, why do you think people want to protect you? If it was just because of your power, they'd be doing the same thing to me and Pete."

She crossed her arms. "You two aren't sitting ducks."

"It's because they like you, you moron. It's like charisma. More than one person has said you're like sunshine." He narrowed his eyes. "And before you say anything, it's not because you're blonde. Which will have to go, by the way."

"What!" She took the elastic out of her hair and shook down the plait. The blonde waves tumbled down her shoulders and she clutched the ends tightly. "Why?"

"You, Little Miss Sunshine, are pretty distinctive. The quickest way to change your appearance is to change your hair. I think you'd suit a warm brown." He squinted, as if picturing it. "We can get the dye tomorrow, but it has to be said that unless you wanna stay cooped up in here forever, you can't go out without changing it. I'd recommend a cut, too."

She ran her hands through her hair. She knew Sylar was watching her, probably trying to gauge her state of mind, but she refused to look at him. She'd had it long and blonde for most of her life, and she was only just starting to grow out the shoulder-length she had last cut it to.

They were quiet for a while, lost in their thoughts. Sylar was probably lost in hers to, but she tried not to think about it.

"Do you think I really make it easier for people if I'm around?" Her voice was quiet and she hated how vulnerable it made her sound.

His response was equally gentle. "You really do. It's an immediate reaction. I think it's why I have this," he tapped his forearm, "and why people trust you and worry about you so much. Everything is a little bleaker without you around. It's easier to see the good in the world."

She wasn't sure if he was speaking in generalities or about himself, but that last possibility was too much for her to process right now.

"You're wrong about the trust thing."

"Well, Noah is the exception, but I think he's allowed to be immune. He's the most distrustful soul I've ever met. You got that vortex guy to trust you, the flying boy and the one with gills, and the puppeteer. Admittedly they did try to kill you, but left to your own devices things would have turned out differently. Though it does explain why Noah is so intent on killing everyone that has wronged you."

"Yes, I guess." Her voice sounded faraway. "And they have names you know."

"And you know that with me, it's the power that stands out." He snorted. "And with a name like 'West', who'd want to remember it?"

She smiled but it wasn't a full one. What if it was personality that defined the power, rather than the power that defined the personality? Claire wasn't sure she liked the thought of people liking her because of her ability. It was almost as bad as thinking that was the most important thing about her.

Sylar reached out and gently tucked her hair behind her ear and the expression in his eyes could almost be described as tender. "Do you think there are qualities about me that are good?"

Surprised by his question and thrown by his gesture, Claire could only nod. There was. He was thoughtful and considerate, honest and had a sense of humour. He did nice things for the people he cared about and tried to make things easier for them to handle – like making cakes for Emma, feeding Peter and helping to give her peace of mind. If he carried on like that, she wouldn't be surprised if the good aspects started to outweigh the bad. But even the negative had positive parts, like his perseverance and ingenuity. ..

"And are they related to my innate ability?"

She shook her head. They were nothing to do with understanding things.

"Then listen to me when I said that this healing thing isn't the only reason why people like you. I admire your strength of conviction and how much you love your family. Your honesty and set of morals, or your kindness and willingness to forgive aren't anything to do with healing. Not only that, but you're downright dogged when you want something. Even if it means getting a serial killer to help you commit suicide."

His attempt to lighten the mood worked, and a small smile lifted her lips. He went to step away, but she moved closer and wrapped her arms around him. He seemed surprised, but tentatively reciprocated, pulling her close and resting his chin on her head.

"Thank you," she said into his chest. And her dad had been right. She was wearing his plaid shirt – it smelt just as good as he did. She couldn't think of a way to describe it.

He rubbed her back and squeezed her tightly before letting her go. He looked down at her sadly, which made her frown. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by his phone beeping in his pocket.

"Peter's asking for the apartment for half an hour. Are you okay to go out for a bit? I think he's going to use the full potential of a tray of cakes."

"But can he make hot chocolate? That's the question."

Sylar grinned, showing his pearly white teeth as he opened the fridge door. Inside were two plastic tubs with tiny marshmallows hidden within a plastic lid. "Ever had these? You put them in the microwave for a few minutes and they come out hot and creamy. Don't think he can go wrong as long as he opens the door before it starts beeping down the timer."

"What's the time?" She asked as she looked around in the small cupboard by the door, praying that she had left some shoes here. She pulled out a pair of flip flops she'd bought when her new shoes had given her blisters and slipped them on.

"Just gone eight."

She didn't know where she was going to go. Nothing would be open and it wasn't like she could go to her dorm room. She was a corpse as far as they were concerned. And she had no money so couldn't go and wait in a coffee shop and wandering the streets didn't seem like a sensible idea.

As if sensing her rising panic, Sylar touched her arm for a second before putting his hands into his pockets. "We could go and get you a few things, if you like. The hair dye and your own clothes and toiletries and shoes that aren't flip flops or you're screwed when it comes to rain. The campus isn't releasing your things until the weekend, which is when Peter said he could collect them, and your bank accounts haven't been transferred yet – only so much you can do with the time you have." He gave her a sad smile. "There's a late night opening in the department store a few blocks from here, so we'll have a few hours at least. The longer we're away, the better I think."

"I don't think Peter can wait. He'll end up telling her she's pregnant, I'll bet."

Sylar laughed. "I'd put money on it if I wasn't so sure you were right." He held the door open for her as they stepped out into the hallway.

Emma and Peter were just coming into the lobby as they were. "Claire!" Emma said, louder than she probably intended, before running towards her and wrapping her in a tight hug, kissing her cheek as she did so. "I'm so glad to see you," she whispered into her ear.

"Me too," Claire said, beaming at her friend, who looked worn out and worried. She was sorry she had added to it. "We're going to get me a few things so you've got the apartment to yourselves for a bit. Enjoy the cakes." She grinned as she waved them goodbye. She shot Peter a warning look as she mouthed 'microwave hot chocolate'. At least he had the decency to look apologetic.

"See you soon."

Claire met Sylar's easy stride, though she had to walk with an arm wrapped across her front to keep the shirt from flapping open in the breeze.

"If you take out one of your earrings, you can use it to hold the shirt closed at the side." She did as he suggested and found that a tiny pearl stud had just as much staying power as a button.

"Seems like I have a lot to thank you for today," she said, looking up at him hesitantly. She didn't know how to treat him anymore. Things were becoming more and more blurry.

He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. "Hardly. Probably that earring suggestion is the only thing that wasn't at least partly selfish. If I'd have known how good being useful felt, I'd have started doing it so much earlier."

And that was the crux of it, she realized. Ever since her dad and Elle had taken advantage of him, he hadn't been able to help anybody without people questioning his motives. To offer help and have it accepted – well, between her, Peter and Emma, it probably hadn't happened in years.

She walked a little closer to him after that.

* * *

Let me know if you liked it! Or if there's anything in particular you want to see. This story is super-flexible and having requests would be a challenge I'd love to try :)


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